


Domestic

by Decipher (Straggler)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Hank Anderson Swears, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Game, Post-Pacifist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:35:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27322084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straggler/pseuds/Decipher
Summary: Connor himself realizes that he no longer finds satisfaction in doing what he had been initially programmed to do. He doesn't want to chase after criminals and apprehend suspects, to continue on as a detective prototype, so when the opportunity arose for him to try something new he didn't hesitate to get in touch with Simon to inquire about it.Simon, for his part, looked unusually surprised by his request.(This one-shot takes place after the events of the peaceful revolution where Connor is attempting to find a new role for himself that isn't anything of a detective prototype. How far he actually manages to succeed is up for debate.)
Relationships: Connor & Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	Domestic

**Author's Note:**

> I'm debating if this story needs a tag that says Connor Whump or not. I don't think it's that much whump so I could probably go without it? You tell me. Hahaha~

  
_What's it doing here?_

_I don't know._

-

He has choices now, as do many of his ilk. At first, he had been satisfied with nothing, with simply being, to just exist as he is with no expectations of more or less. But as days and weeks and months rolled by after the peaceful end of the revolution, it became obvious that many androids decided they no longer wanted to carry out the roles they were originally made for and wanted to strive for something else.

Connor himself realizes that he no longer finds satisfaction in doing what he had been initially programmed to do. He doesn't want to chase after criminals and apprehend suspects, to continue on as a detective prototype, so when the opportunity arose for him to try something new he didn't hesitate to get in touch with Simon to inquire about it.

Simon, for his part, looked unusually surprised by his request.

'A housekeeper?'

'Yes. I assure you I am capable.'

'I have no doubt of it,' he says although his LED is circling yellow.

He is unsure what the PL600 is thinking of; they barely know each other outside of what occurred during the final hours of the revolution. With the exception of Markus, he knows very few androids and has spoken to less than a handful of them in an amicable fashion.

'If there are no positions currently available then I am fine to wait until something opens up,' he tries to reassure them, ready to leave them back to their work. He's certain they must be busy with requests from other androids much like himself, too.

Simon shakes his head, 'It's not that. I'm just surprised, that's all. That you would choose this particular profession.'

Connor doesn't say that he knows what the other androids have been saying about him, how they fear him and avoid him. He can see their level of stress rise whenever he is within their general vicinity, only lowering when he is beyond their immediate range. He has heard them speak of him, and he knows how they scorn him for following a program just as they had prior to their own deviation.

He understands; if Amanda were a tangible source for him to direct some of his anger towards, perhaps he would be the same.

He knows what he was made to do but it's no longer something he would choose to pursue himself, so he aims to take on a position that is as different as possible, and a housekeeping role seemed a good enough place to start.

'There's a saying that the humans have,' Connor starts at he drops his gaze, 'Idle hands are the devil's workshop.'

'Yes, I've heard of it.'

'If I can keep myself occupied, then perhaps I can keep CyberLife's shadow away from me.'

'I see.'

Connor looks back up and meets Simon's gaze. 'Thank you for your time. Please inform me when something becomes available.'

'There is something,' the PL600 says just before he turns to leave the small makeshift office space, 'But we've been warned ahead of time that it won't be an easy job.'

It sounds like a challenge but Connor has always worked well when thrown into the deep end of any given situation.

'What does it involve?' He asks, and Simon tells him about Lieutenant Hank Anderson.

-

The contract he has with Captain Jeffery Fowler is as follows: once a week for three hours he will go to 115 Michigan Drive, Detroit, and assist with cleaning duties for Lieutenant Hank Anderson during his assigned days off. After those duties are completed, Captain Fowler wishes to be contacted and updated on Lieutenant Anderson's well-being.

'Look,' Captain Fowler starts, his voice rough and tired over the call, 'I don't need a play by play here, alright? I just need an honest opinion of how he's doing whenever you're done with helping out around the house. Hank and I are friends, but it's been a long time since we actually talked to each other.'

'Understood.'

'Good. His next day off is this coming Wednesday and Friday,' he says and Connor can hear the shifting of paper and documents coming through from the other side, 'He doesn't usually leave the house so he'll be home when you arrive and, fair warning, he's gonna do his damn best to drive you away. Do _not_ let him push you around.'

'Thank you for informing me.'

Captain Fowler harrumphs quietly, 'Might as well say good luck to you. You're gonna need it.'

'Your sentiment is appreciated.'

A scoff, and then the call disconnects.

-

He arrives at the address at 9AM on Wednesday, standing outside a one storey house that has seen better days. The grass is tall and in need of mowing down, with dandelions and thistle weeds dotted about the area. The trash bins don't look as though they have been taken care of for quite some time and even a quick scan of the gutters tell him they haven't been cleaned out for quite a few seasons at least.

Lieutenant Anderson's vehicle is parked haphazardly at the front of the house, partially on the driveway leading into the garage and partially on the grass, the tire tracks having worn down that particular side of the lawn, leaving an imprint and exposing the mud beneath it.

Connor straightens the cuffs of his sleeves and walks up to the door, finger raised to the door bell. It rattles noisily, echoing through the house and a dog immediately starts barking up inside. He waits and listens as someone within starts fumbling their way through the house to reach the front door.

'Sumo, down!' He hears a gruff voice say as a lock turns and the door opens to reveal a disheveled man having very obviously just woken up.

His scans reveal to him several things: traces of alcohol on his mouth, beard and shirt, pale skin with heavy bags beneath their bloodshot eyes indicating a lack of proper rest, and a heavy gut which reveals a slight weight problem.

'Hello, my name is Connor. I'm the housekeeper sent by Jericho.'

'Fuck off,' the man grumbles and moves to slam the door that he manages to hold off with a hand to the wood.

'I apologize, Lieutenant, but you should know that I've already been paid ahead of time by Captain Fowler. If you were to send me back he has been warned that no refunds will be given if the recipient were to deny the services we offer.'

'Like I fucking care. It's his money I'm wasting, not mine,' he growls and reaches down to pull at the collar of a large saint bernard to stop them from leaving the house.

'If you'd like, perhaps I can take your dog for a walk. Saint bernards require daily exercise to stimulate their brains and boost their health.'

'Go away,' he snaps even as he gently herds the dog back behind him, 'I don't need some maid, especially not a fucking android, to be taking care of my house or my dog!'

The door gets slammed in his face, a clear dismissal. But despite this, he cannot leave.

He thinks he can perhaps start with the outside of the house; the gutters need cleaning and the bins need tending to, but then his audio processors pick up shouting behind the closed doors and the familiar voice of Captain Fowler through a phone receiver.

'You sent a fucking android to my fucking house?!'

'You're a fucking mess, Hank. If you won't clean yourself up then I'll get someone to do it for you.'

'Fuck off, Jeff. I don't need a fucking babysitter, least of all a fucking no good piece of plastic!'

'I'm sick and tired of watching one of my friends turn his life into a shithole. I know you don't like asking for help, that's why I'm not asking whether you want it or not, you're just gonna have to deal with it.'

'Fuck you,' he hears the Lieutenant say, but he sounds tired, resigned, 'You always fucking do this.'

'Yeah, tough shit. Call him back. I already paid for his time and they don't give refunds,' the Captain says and then immediately disconnects the call without another word.

There's an inaudible grumble from the Lieutenant but he can hear approaching footsteps return to where he stands on the front porch and the locks being unlatched once more. The door opens and there's a brief look of surprise on the man's face upon seeing him before it quickly disappears back under a scowl.

'You can start in the living room, bathroom and the kitchen, nothing else. Got it?' He tells him, almost jabbing a finger right under his nose.

'Got it,' he nods and waits for the Lieutenant to retreat back inside the house to settle onto the couch before he enters and closes the door behind him.

He notices the house is dim, no lights are turned on and none of the blinds have been opened to let in the sun. There are small mounds of dog hair accumulated in the corners of each room, most noticeably in the corner nearest the dog bed. There are old patches of dried mud and flecks of dirt on the wood flooring of the living room and old food residues on the kitchen tiles. Some corners of the ceiling has mold patches growing on the paint, possibly from an accumulation of condensation that couldn't escape due to the house not being aired out enough.

There's also an accumulation of dishes in the sink, a tower of pizza boxes and takeaway containers, some of which still has food in it, stacked in the far end of the bench top, empty whiskey bottles, half-crushed beer cans piled up next to each other as well. When he opens the dish washer he notices that it's half-full with dried bits of food on the plates, bowls, cups and cutlery inside it. It's in need of repair and a quick search for the broken part tells him the machine is no longer in production and compatible parts were phased out as of two years ago. He closes the door of the dishwasher and adds it to the growing list of things to do for later.

Connor begins by pushing aside the kitchen blinds and opening some windows to air out the house, letting in a gentle breeze. He opens the cupboard beneath the sink for cleaning materials and finds only a dry and flaky dish sponge, a rusty scourer, a moldy and cracked sink plug and a quarter bottle of dish soap, as well as a full bin of trash.

The bathroom has a half-clogged washing machine and a dryer with a dangerously full lint-collector with an old bagless vacuum cleaner placed next to it that has an unfortunate amount of dust on top of it, telling him exactly how little use it's been given.

The Lieutenant told him he can only enter the living room, bathroom and the kitchen but he has yet to locate a broom or a mop and bucket for him to use. There is a closed door at the end of the hallway most likely leading into the garage but the Lieutenant has not given him permission to enter it.

'Do you have a broom or a mop somewhere in your residence, Lieutenant? Perhaps in the garage?'

The man scoffs, 'Do I look like the kinda person to have a broom or a fucking mop,' he retorts, not even pulling his attention away from the television screen in front of him, a replay of a baseball game that occurred seven nights prior.

Connor doesn't reply knowing that he's not expected to answer. Instead, he begins with the tasks he has set for himself.

He takes out the trash under the sink, flattens the pizza boxes and throws out the old takeaway containers. It must smell foul to a human but the Lieutenant doesn't seem to care, or perhaps has grown used to it that it no longer bothers him.

The dishes get washed with hot soapy water and the old dish sponge then he dries them with the hand towel he finds shoved haphazardly at the very bottom drawer. He takes time reorganizing the cupboards and the pantry as well before moving on to cleaning the bathroom.

He makes a list of things he'll need to purchase for the next time he arrives and thinks it would be good for him to have his own equipment for future job openings.

When there is only 45 more minutes left to his time at the residence he steps towards the Lieutenant, careful not to block his view of the television.

'May I take Sumo out for a walk?'

The dog barks at the mention of his name, tag wagging momentarily before stilling. The Lieutenant frowns but eventually gestures a thumb to the front door where a dog leash hangs off one of the pegs.

'Don't lose him and don't let him eat shit.'

'Understood,' he says as he picks up the leash and hears the dog immediately get up towards him. 'Would you like to join us for a walk, Lieutenant?' He asks, hoping to help ease the man into a more active lifestyle.

'Fuck no.'

'Alright.'

The saint bernard follows him well, walking by his legs and not pulling on the leash, obviously having been trained before. Connor plans a route around the neighborhood at a casual stroll that takes them into a small park where he walks Sumo at a light jog for 10 minutes before making their way back to 115 Michigan Drive.

When he re-enters the house, the Lieutenant is sitting by the kitchen table now, eating a ready-made meal. He unclips the leash from Sumo, places it back onto the door peg and then goes to refill Sumo's food and water bowl.

'Good day, Lieutenant. I will take my leave now.'

He gets no reply, which he had expected.

'Good day, Sumo. I enjoyed our walk today,' he tells the saint bernard who barks at him in return and this small acknowledgement makes him happier than he thought it would. He runs a hand through the dog's fur for a short moment before leaving the house.

-

He buys a duster, a dust pan and brush set as well as a broom, a mop and a bucket. As he's making the purchase he hears two men talking to one another just within his hearing range three aisles away, standing near the front where the boxes of potato chips are on sale. He believes they mean to be discreet.

'Warren's a useless bitch.'

But he can hear every word they're spitting.

'Should've killed them all when they had the chance.'

'Fucking _pests_.'

He takes the receipt the machine prints out for him, picks up his purchases and immediately leaves the building, stepping into an auto-taxi he had called just moments prior.

Their words unsettles him but he knows this is just something he and the other androids must endure from humans. Markus is doing his best for all of them, and all they can do is wait and hope for the best.

He calls Captain Fowler on the way back home, a small room within a recently done-up apartment building that the city of Detroit gifted to Jericho for them to use however they liked. It's not much but it's more than they expected and it's more than he thought he'd be given.

'Captain Fowler? It's me, Connor.'

A sigh, 'And?'

'You mentioned previously that you wanted an honest opinion of how Lieutenant Anderson is doing.'

'Yeah, and?'

'He has shown symptoms of depression and is an alcoholic. I've had to discard several bottles and cans of it, although I'm uncertain how long they've been accumulating for.'

He snorts derisively, 'No shit. Like I said, he's been through a lot.'

'I don't believe simply cleaning the house will be enough to help him. He may require therapy which I doubt he will accept from me.'

'No, I don't expect you to play therapist for Hank. I just want you to help clean up his house. Sometimes your surroundings reflects your mood and vice versa. If you're living in a shithole, your mood is probably gonna be shit, too.'

'I understand. I'll endeavor to assist as much as I can.'

'Well, I'm not expecting you to perform miracles. I just want him to have a clean space so he can help get himself into a better headspace, that's all.'

'Understood. Good day, Captain Fowler.'

'Yeah, sure, good day to you, too.'

The call disconnects.

-  
-  
-

_Surely Markus isn't letting that outcast stay here with us._

_That's not up to us to decide._

_I don't want it here._

-

He pushes the blinds in the kitchen to the side and opens the windows, then does the same for the living room and hears a low grumble from the Lieutenant as light and air comes into the house. When he turns around, he sees the man squinting at the rays of sun, offended in some way.

'The sun provides a natural source of vitamin D, it will be good for you.'

The Lieutenant grunts in a non-answer.

'From what I've observed, you also seem to be lacking in melanin. Your sleep schedule must be highly irregular no doubt in part due to your erratic work hours as a Lieutenant but also most likely due to your excessive alcohol consumption.'

'I didn't let you in so you can nag me like a mother,' he growls as he takes a long drink from his beer bottle. 'Just shut up and do your job.'

'My job is to assist you.'

'No,' he says slowly, 'Your _job_ is to clean my fucking house, that's it. I don't need you to do anything else for me, so quit it.'

He nods and then moves to dust the living room and the tops of the kitchen cupboard, sweep and vacuum the floors, then mop, almost using all of the equipment that he bought specifically to assist him with his duties. 

He considers buying a vacuum cleaner as well as the machine that the Lieutenant owns is old and running at 42% efficiency. The filter doesn't seem to be doing much filtering and he finds himself needing to clean it quite often although he notices that Sumo doesn't particularly like the noise, barking at it and skittering away whenever the vacuum gets too near the saint bernard so he decides to put it back in the bathroom and use the dust pan and brush set to finish off the last of it.

There's an impressive number of books accumulated on the bookshelf and he takes care not to displace anything, knowing that the Lieutenant is watching him as he cleans off the dust gathered on the shelves as well as on top of the books. He thinks to reorganize it, too, based on author, genre and alphabetical order but decides not make that attempt in case everything is already exactly how the Lieutenant wants it to be.

He has never read a physical book before, although he can easily download it into his memory if he requires it, but as he gently flips through the pages he finds he quite likes the textures that he can sense across his fingers. Some books have softer pages than others, some are rougher and more coarse. There's a sharpness to some of them, the binders well made, some edges painted gold or red or green. He places them back on the shelves once he's done cleaning every book and is aware the Lieutenant is still observing him. He doesn't linger even though he would like to take the time to go through the pages again but decides to fulfill his other cleaning duties instead.

He's forbidden from entering the bedroom and has been explicitly told not to assist with the laundry even as he insists he can help the Lieutenant with it.

'Fuck off. I haven't had anybody do my laundry since I moved outta home, alright? I can deal with it myself,' he growls, momentarily distracted from the television to glare at Connor.

'Yes, I'm sure you can but I've noticed that your hamper is full, and you seem to still be wearing yesterday's clothes; they're quite wrinkled.'

A scoff, 'Like anybody cares.'

He thinks the Lieutenant does care, but he also seems to be in a poor enough mental state that he can't muster the energy to put in more effort into his appearance. Captain Fowler told him his job isn't to be Lieutenant Anderson's therapist so he'll endeavor to find other ways of assisting him instead.

With 40 minutes left of his time here at the residence, he picks up the dog leash from the door and immediately clips it onto the saint bernard's collar.

'The weather is quite mild today, would you be interested in walking with us?' He asks even though he is almost certain the Lieutenant will decline the offer.

'Hell no,' he snorts in reply.

'Alright,' he nods and then walks out of the house with Sumo in tow. He plans a new route to walk the dog and takes in the neighborhood that the Lieutenant lives in at the same time. It's quiet and calm, with residences mostly occupied by those whose earnings falls in the middle-income range.

He comes across a few humans and all of them give him a wide berth, taking care not to cross paths with him. He takes no offense and knows it will take more time before people become accustomed to the new equilibrium.

When he's done refilling Sumo's food and water bowl, he bids farewell to the Lieutenant who gives him no reply, and then to the saint bernard who barks at him once, accepts the ear scratches and watches him go.

-

He chooses a different supermarket to buy cleaning supplies from and picks up a pair of rubber gloves, a bottle of multi-purpose cleaner, glass cleaner and bleach for the next time he returns to Lieutenant Anderson's house.

He meets no humans that speak ill of him and other androids within the building but he chooses not to linger too long as he makes his purchases and enters the auto-taxi that he called for just minutes before. Once inside, he immediately makes a call to Captain Fowler.

'Captain Fowler, it's me, Connor.'

A sigh, 'Yeah, I figured.'

'Lieutenant Anderson doesn't seem overly concerned about his general appearance.'

'Was he wearing washed out grey jeans and a blue shirt with white streaks on it?'

'Yes, he was.'

'Ugh, thought so,' another sigh but this one seems more concerned than tired. 'There are days where he comes in wearing the same clothes as the day before.'

'Does he have an active night life?'

A snort, 'Yeah, sure, if you wanna count drinking until he pukes his guts out as " _active night life_ ".'

'I see.'

'Anyway. Figured an android like you wouldn't judge about fashion choices or lack thereof.'

'I wouldn't,' he replies honestly.

'Good, that's not what I hired you for anyway,' he grunts and there's a shuffling of papers coming through from the other side of the receiver, no doubt the Captain must still be at work. 'Anything else?'

'No, Captain Fowler. Thank you for your time, good day.'

'Yeah, good day to you, too.'

He disconnects the call and sees the apartment building just three blocks away.

-

_What's that doing here?_

_Ignore it._

_It's a traitor._

-  
-  
-

Connor awakes from stasis to audio replays of certain conversations he has heard within the last few months, their voices loud as if they're standing right beside him. He dismisses the audio tracks and attempts to refocus himself on the day's tasks.

He has more supplies to bring with him over to 115 Michigan Drive and he intends to thoroughly clean the kitchen today before he needs to take Sumo out for his walk. The fridge, especially, needs to be taken care of.

He switches off the appliance and the food in the fridge and freezer either gets thrown out or relocated to a medium-sized chill bin that he was able to locate within the confines of the garage from an earlier visit. He spends a fair amount of time cleaning and disinfecting each individual shelf within the fridge and the walls of it while he waits for the freezer to defrost before he can begin carefully chiseling away the accumulated ice. After nearly an hour, it's clean but woefully empty.

'Where the fuck's my beer,' the Lieutenant asks roughly as he stares into the empty fridge over Connor's shoulder.

'In the chill bin. I've not yet moved everything back into place,' he answers and watches as the man pops open the lid and grabs the first bottle of alcohol within reach. 'It should still be cold as I've made use of the excess ice within the freezer to keep the temperatures low.'

The Lieutenant merely grunts in reply as he twists the top off and takes a long drink of it. His eye bags seems deeper in color, his complexion paler than usual, his movements slow and sluggish.

'You seem to be lethargic,' Connor mentions as he switches the appliance back on and closes the door after another quick glance inside.

'I'm always fucking tired, what about it,' he grumbles as he roots around in the chill bin until he unearths a box of a ready-made meal, pulling it out of the packaging and throwing it carelessly into the microwave. Connor adds the chore of cleaning the microwave to the bottom of his to-do list for later.

'Perhaps you should consider a change in diet? I'm sure it will improve your health greatly if you consume food with more nutritional benefits rather than what you are currently having,' he says as the man sets the timer for five minutes then takes a seat by the dining table.

'Don't care,' he grunts as he lifts the bottle to his lips, 'Quick and easy is all I have the energy for.'

'If you would like--'

'No, I don't _care_ ,' the Lieutenant snaps, 'Quit your meddling. Just leave me alone and clean like you're fucking supposed to.'

'Understood,' he nods and decides to take care of the new pizza boxes and takeaway containers while he waits for the refrigerator to cool down before putting everything back inside of it.

He notices the Lieutenant seems to favor ordering from three restaurants of either pizza, Chinese stir-fry or Indian curries, all of which are high in salt, sugars and fat. It's either these or the instant meals from a supermarket which lacks proper nutrition suitable for a man of his age and his dietary needs.

He remembers Captain Fowler telling him the environment in which a person lives in can just as easily impact their mental health. Connor believes healthy eating can attribute just as much if not more so. He knows exercise can also be a big factor as well and, even if chances are low, he'll continue to make the offer to the Lieutenant even if it's unlikely to be accepted.

When there is only 45 minutes left to his time at the house, he clips the leash onto Sumo's collar and turns to the other.

'Would you like to walk Sumo with me today, Lieutenant?'

'Ugh,' he replies and swats the air next to him in answer.

'I'll take that as a no,' he nods and then leads the saint bernard outside, taking him through a new route, taking in the new sights. There's no dog park within walking distance but he thinks perhaps next time he can call an auto-taxi and take Sumo to one, let him run around freely and socialize with others of his kind.

When he returns back to 115 Michigan Drive, he lets the saint bernard loose from the leash, refills his food and water bowl that immediately gets lapped up.

'Good day, Lieutenant. I'll see you again next time.'

The man grunts from where he's sitting on the couch and it's not much, but it's an improvement compared to before.

'Good day, Sumo. I also enjoyed our walk today.'

The dog barks at him and he feels fond of the creature, reluctant to stop running his fingers through the saint bernard's fur. He lets himself linger for another couple of minutes but leaves the residence shortly after.

-

'Captain Fowler, it's me, Connor.'

'Oh my God, it's like a broken record,' he hears muttered under the man's breath before his speech returns to normal, 'What have you got?'

'The Lieutenant seems to be...overly fond of fast food.'

A snort, 'No, it's just easier. Hank can't cook for shit.'

'I see,' he replies as he looks outside the window of the auto-taxi. It drives past a supermarket but he already has all the cleaning products he'll need for the foreseeable future.

'Do you know how to cook?' Comes the question.

'Of course. I'm capable of doing many things if it's required of me.'

'Alright. You open to renegotiating your contract to include some cooking duties?'

'I am, but I doubt Lieutenant Anderson would be happy to more of my, and I quote, meddling.'

Another snort, 'Well, tough luck.'

By the time he arrives back at Jericho, he has a new contract electronically signed with Captain Fowler and the beginnings of a small meal plan for the next time he arrives at the Lieutenant's house. It is only for four meals, two for lunch and two for dinner, but anymore and it will most likely be wasted.

Based on the food choices the Lieutenant has consumed for himself, Connor attempts to create some quick and easy meals, tasty and nutritious and simple to reheat and enjoy when he wants it.

A small shopping list is created and he leaves it closed with a reminder placed on it for the morning he is to return to 115 Michigan Drive.

He exits out of the auto-taxi and walks through the entrance towards the elevators, stepping past two androids whose LED turn red at the sight of him before cycling back to yellow. He nods to them in greeting but does not attempt to engage in conversation as he calls for the lift.

'It's still here,' he hears one of them say.

He thinks they mean to be quiet, or discreet, but they don't know his audio range exceeds that of a normal household android, it's probable they don't realize he can still hear their conversation.

'Why is it still here?'

'Shh,' the other shushes the first, and his scans immediately picks up the movement of them sharing an interface with one another but he doesn't need to hear them to know what they're saying about him, what they think of him.

He steps into the elevator as soon as it arrives and keeps his gaze averted.

He does not yet have enough accumulated wealth to rent out his own place somewhere else in the city but he knows if he remains diligent then eventually his efforts will bear fruit. He simply needs to endure.

-  
-  
-

He carries two large paper bags full of groceries, one in each arm, and it takes a small bit of careful maneuvering to ring the doorbell while keeping hold of his recent purchases paid for by Captain Fowler.

The door opens and the Lieutenant immediately frowns upon seeing him. He foresees the man slamming the door shut but he quickly walks inside before Lieutenant Anderson can even begin the motion of shutting the door in his face like he did previously.

'Good morning, Lieutenant,' he greets, hoping to keep the mood from dropping. He greets Sumo as well and is pleased by the answering bark.

'Nothing good about it,' the man grumbles as he closes the door and steps closer as Connor empties the bags of all of the groceries and immediately starts placing them onto the shelves, organizing it however he wants since the fridge is still mostly empty and there doesn't seem to be any particular order of how the Lieutenant wants things to go. 'The fuck is this?'

'The Captain has renegotiated my contract to include cooking some meals for you,' he says as he tucks the meat into the back of the fridge where it will remain the coldest.

'Fuck's sake...'

'Captain Fowler cares for you deeply, Lieutenant. He wants to see you well,' he tells him as he places the carrots and the broccoli into the vegetable bin before turning his attention to the other. 'Is that not what friends wish for one another?'

He scoffs, 'Like you know anything about having friends.'

Connor averts his gaze and returns to putting the rest of the groceries away. 'I don't. But...I would like to,' he says quietly as he puts the eggs carefully into the designated egg tray in the middle compartment of the door.

'What, you can't make any friends with other androids?'

'No, I'm not well liked by my people,' he answers honestly, thinking on the words they say around him when they think he can't hear them. 'I did, after all, used to hunt them as part of my original programming, never mind the fact that I am now a deviant myself.'

The Lieutenant chuckles at him but it's unkind; laughter at his expense. 'You sad about it?'

'I cannot be sad, Lieutenant. I cannot miss what I've never had,' he says although he feels that it is untrue to a certain extent. Of course he wants to form bonds with his people but it is difficult to want something that cannot and will not be reciprocated.

The man curses under his breath.

Now that everything has been put away, Connor can begin making the first meal for the Lieutenant. 'Why don't you go and clean up? I'll prepare brunch for you.'

He expected resistance to come from the other but he's mildly surprised when the man leaves without another word, disappearing down the hall to freshen up.

It doesn't take him long to prepare the food, serving the first meal to the Lieutenant just as the other is returning to the main part of the house after a shower and a change of clothes. Sumo sits beside him as he begins prep the vegetables for the next three meals, perhaps waiting to be fed as well.

'Later, Sumo,' he says as he listens to the clink of cutlery of the plate as the Lieutenant eats the scrambled eggs and toast with smashed avocado on top, lightly salted and peppered.

As soon as the other meals are cooked and ready for later consumption, he goes outside of the house to take care of the gutters first, keeping a black plastic bag with him as he climbs the ladder to clear out the accumulation of dead, rotted leaves. Once that's done, he unearths the grass trimmer from the garage, inserting the charged battery hoping that it might run for long enough to at least get him halfway done with the lawn. It doesn't, the power running out when he's only a third of the way completed. 

He decides to take Sumo out first while the battery charges up again so he can attempt to trim the grass again later when he returns.

'May I take Sumo to the dog park? There is one a 12-minute taxi ride away if you will allow me to.'

'Sure, just don't lose my dog.'

'Of course. Would you also like to join us, Lieutenant?'

'No.'

'Alright,' he nods and clips the leash onto Sumo, guiding him into the auto-taxi although he seems confused by it at first. He keeps the dog at the footwell, holding him gently to prevent him from climbing up onto the seats or leaving his paw prints on the door to look outside at the passing view.

Sumo becomes enthusiastic as soon as they come within range of other dogs, barking loudly and tail wagging excitedly as they near the fence that marks the boundary for the dog park. He lets the saint bernard go, keeping a careful eye on the dog and his surroundings to ensure no harm comes to Sumo.

They can only stay for 30 minutes and by the time they return back to 115 Michigan Drive, it has been nearly an hour.

The lawn trimmer battery isn't quite charged to 100% due to it being an old and outdated model but it works well enough for a lawn of this size, it just requires three full recharges of the battery to get the chore done. He has to leave the rest for next week though as he puts the battery back into the charger slot in the garage, placing the lawn trimmer next to it.

He flattens and throws out the pizza boxes, takeaway containers and empty beer bottles and cans, hoping that the next time he returns, maybe there might be less of it to discard.

'I'm leaving now, Lieutenant. Good day,' he says and gets distracted by the saint bernard's approach. 'Good day, Sumo. Thank you for your companionship,' he smiles faintly as he runs a hand through the dog's fur, enjoying the softness of it on his fingers.

'He's a dog,' the man tells him, 'Of course he's gonna like anybody who gives him attention.'

'I know, Lieutenant. I appreciate and am thankful that he doesn't judge me. He cares for you deeply, too,' he tells the other as he looks up and meets their gaze from where they're sitting on the living room couch. 'I'm sure he would like to see you better as well.'

'Get lost already,' the man shoos him away, turning his attention back to the television, although his words seems to lack the usual bite.

'Take care of yourself. Please remember the eat the meals I have prepared for you as well.'

'Whatever.'

He leaves the house of 115 Michigan Drive behind him, stepping into the auto-taxi that will take him back to Jericho, calling the Captain now that he has time to spare.

'Captain Fowler, it's--'

'Yeah, Connor, I get it. How was Hank today?'

'He seems...more open. I expected to meet resistance but he was surprisingly receptive to the meal plans.' He doesn't say that Lieutenant Anderson almost tried to close the door on his face again like his first visit.

A snort, 'Hank loves food, he just can't cook for shit. I'll let you in on another secret.'

'Should you be divulging this kind of information to me, Captain?' 

'It's not _that_ kind of secret. But if you make him any kind of meal that includes pasta, he'll eat it right up.'

Connor updates his next shopping list to include some Italian food. He wonders if he should invest in a pasta maker as well. 'Oh, I was unaware the Lieutenant liked pasta. He always either gets pizza, Chinese stir-fry or Indian curries.'

'That's because takeaway pasta gets disgusting by the time it arrives at your doorstep. Anyway, keep up the good work.'

'I'll do my best, Captain. Good day.'

'Good day to you, too.'

-  
-  
-

They appear quickly and flee just as fast.

He picks himself up off the floor and takes stock of himself. There is surface damage to his body that is already in the midst of self-repair and a small crack on the right side of his face plate. The thirium he lost is minimal and he decides some time in stasis should help him fully recover from the assault. His clothes are rumpled but otherwise undamaged. A wash will be more than enough to restore it to what it once was.

There is strength in numbers, this he knows, but even if there had been only one he would not have fought back.

He does not yet have enough accumulated funds to leave the small room and he does not yet have enough work to keep him in financial stability. All he can do is continue to endure.

-  
-  
-

'Good morning, Lieutenant,' he greets as soon as the door opens up.

'What the fuck happened to you?'

'An unfortunate altercation,' he explains as he enters the house and heads straight for the kitchen to prepare the meals for the other. 'But don't worry, my self-repairs are underway; it won't hinder my ability to housekeep or walk Sumo for you.'

He hears the man come up towards him and he looks up briefly to see a look of discomfort on the Lieutenant's face. He averts his gaze and continues to put away the meats and vegetables into the fridge. 

'You...uh...you didn't have to come if you're not feeling well.'

Connor closes the door and straightens up. 'I cannot feel pain, Lieutenant. It is more of a minor inconvenience,' he says as he turns around and pulls out a chopping board, a knife and a pan to use. 'I assure you that my self-repairs will be done by tomorrow morning when I next wake from stasis. I had thought it would be completed during the night but it appears I miscalculated.'

'Who did it?'

'Is it of no concern to you. I believe it's been dealt with,' he tells him as he takes out the last of the ingredients from the paper bag to make brunch with. He flattens the paper bag and leaves it aside to throw out later. There's also a noticeable difference in the amount of fast food the Lieutenant is consuming on a weekly basis, too. 

'Who did it?' He asks again forcefully, 'Androids or humans?'

'Does it matter? Like I said before, I'm not well liked,' he begins to slice into an onion to caramelize in the pan. 'I'm an outcast to my people and a pest to the humans. It doesn't matter,' he reiterates and decides to add some herbs to his next shopping trip for more color and flavor to the food he'll make for the Lieutenant.

'It matters to you.'

He pauses in the midst of cutting the second half of the onion and then resumes shortly after. '...You should clean up, Lieutenant. I'll make brunch for you.'

The man doesn't leave the kitchen until minutes later, eyes focused on him as he slides the sliced onions from the chopping board into the heated up pan, the sound of it sizzling loud enough to tune out the noises coming from the television.

As soon as the meals are prepared and ready, he takes out the lawn trimmer to finish cutting down the grass that he couldn't quite get to the previous week. He has to charge the battery again when there's one just the side section of the house left.

He cleans the house to the best of his abilities and the repetitive motions soothes him. Comparing the state of the house from when he first arrive to now fills him with a sense of satisfaction, the feeling of a mission completed.

He takes Sumo out for another trip to the dog park and the saint bernard seems to anticipate it, walking around his feet excitedly before settling down so the leash can be clipped onto his collar. 

He already knows what the answer will be but he feels the need to ask regardless. 'Would you like to join us today, Lieutenant?'

The man makes a face at the television, looking down at the remote control in his hand before looking back up at the screen.

Connor takes it to mean no and reaches for the first latch. Behind him, the television gets switched off.

'You taking him to the dog park? The one by the gigantic oak tree that's like a fucking thousand years old or something?'

'It's currently stated to be 267 years old.'

'Fucking ancient,' he grunts as he gets up from the couch. 'Haven't been there in a while. Might be interesting to see if it's changed.'

'I will wait for you to get ready.'

'Cancel that taxi; I'll drive us there.'

'Alright.'

It has taken five visits and he's glad his persistence has finally paid off. It's a small step in the right direction and he hopes he can help keep the momentum going.

Sumo seems more excited as they get into the Lieutenant's car, unable to sit still as he walks around the back seat of the vehicle. Connor notices the car is in quite a state as well but when he offers to clean it for him the Lieutenant loudly tells him no and leaves it at that.

As soon as they arrive within the confines of the dog park, he unhooks the leash from the saint bernard and watches as the dog runs around excitedly for a while before returning back to the Lieutenant, barking for attention and winding his way around the man's legs.

Connor sees the man smile and laugh for the first time, and it pleases him to see Lieutenant Anderson show a happier mood after so many weeks of negativity. The original plan had only been to spend half an hour here with Sumo but now that the Lieutenant has joined them he decides it will be beneficial for the man to spend more time in the fresh air and the sun while also spending time with his dog.

He sits at a bench and watches as the saint bernard brings back stick after stick after stick for the Lieutenant and it makes him happy to see the man in such good spirits.

After nearly an hour they return back to 115 Michigan Drive and he completes the last of the grass cutting, takes out what's left of the rubbish and gives the house another quick check for what he'll need to do for his next visit.

'Good day, Lieutenant. I hope you enjoyed your time with Sumo today. I'll see you next time.'

'Yeah, sure, whatever,' he says from his spot on the couch. The television is off and Sumo climbs off his lap to walk his way towards Connor.

He smiles and runs a hand through the dog's fur. 'Good day, Sumo. Be a good boy.'

'He's always a good boy.'

'He is,' he agrees and spends a few more minutes with the saint bernard, aware of the Lieutenant's stares, but it's not long before he leaves the house behind him, stepping into the auto-taxi he called for earlier.

He calls the Captain on his way back to Jericho, a smile still on his face.

'Captain Fowler,' he greets.

'You sound happy,' the man points out.

'Yes. Lieutenant Anderson joined me and Sumo's outing today at the dog park. He seems happier.'

'Good. Good. I'm glad. Your persistence paid off.'

'Yes, it did.'

'Keep it up.'

'I intend to.'

-  
-  
-

He believes they mean to drive him out of Jericho.

_Get out._

_Leave._

_We don't want you here._

He endures, and doesn't say that he has nowhere else to go.

-  
-  
-

They find him on the morning he attempts to leave to purchase groceries for the Lieutenant. The sleeve of his jacket is ripped and his right arm component is damaged and in need of repairs. He retreats back to his room, taking stock of himself and comes to the conclusion that he will be unable to assist with any of his cooking or cleaning duties assigned to him. His self-repairs will not let him recover enough by the Lieutenant's next assigned day off for this week.

'I apologize, Captain Fowler,' he says as soon as the call gets picked up, 'A personal matter has arisen and...I need time to take care of it.'

'Sure.'

'Can you tell me when Lieutenant Anderson's next assigned days off are?'

'Tuesday and Thursday. He's on night rotation for this month so you're better off going to his house in the afternoon.'

'Understood. Thank you, Captain. Good day.'

'Good day to you, too.'

He disconnects the call and looks around his room. It frustrates him suddenly, not being able to leave the building until his repairs are completed. He can't cook for the Lieutenant, he can't help clean the house and he can't see and walk Sumo.

He cleans his own room painstakingly slow with only one working arm component for lack of anything better to do but it still doesn't take him long to complete the chore. He has very few possessions.

-  
-  
-

_You're a parasite._

_Everything would be better for us if you'd just leave._

-

He wakes from stasis with audio files replaying in his head. The words repeating themselves in his memory banks. The voice of Lieutenant Anderson calling him a fucking android and a no-good piece of plastic. Other humans calling him a pest. Androids calling him an outcast, a traitor and a parasite.

He wants to hope the Lieutenant doesn't think negatively of him anymore but he can't help the memory from replaying, the words echoing over and over again until he forcibly stops them.

They find him as he attempts to leave the building to go grocery shopping for the Lieutenant again and it seems they really do mean to drive him out by force. He wonders if they also mean to kill him.

His thirium is reaching sub-optimal levels and his stress is high, the number blinking in the corner of his optical units. He wants to go to 115 Michigan Drive but he can't.

'I apologize again, Captain Fowler,' he says as soon as the call connects, 'But...I don't believe I will be able to fulfill the terms of my contract anymore.' His right arm component sustained heavier damage after this last assault and although it can still be self-repaired after a few stasis cycles, he fears he may lose it entirely the next time.

'Alright, sure. That's a shame. Hank's been opening up a hell of a lot more these days.'

'I'm glad to hear he's going well. I'm sure he'll be more receptive of receiving help from other androids if you would like to employ the services from Jericho again.'

A hum, 'Yeah, guess so. Thanks for your help, Connor.'

'You're welcome, Captain. Please take care of yourself.'

'You, too.'

He brings up the memory of Lieutenant Anderson playing with Sumo in the dog park, the smile and the laughter from the man. It's the only memory he has of the Lieutenant that isn't filled with negativity and it saddens him that he won't be able to watch the gradual improvement of the man's mood and health. It makes him sad that he'll no longer be able to see Sumo, either. He hopes the next android to go there will take care of the both of them.

He takes in a deep breath and attempts to reach out to Simon, pinging his location somewhere on one of the lower floors of Jericho.

_Hello, Simon._

_How can I help you, Connor?_

_I'm calling to inform you that Captain Fowler and Lieutenant Anderson will no longer require my services._

_Oh, I see. Would you like another position? I can inform you when something becomes available if you'd like to be placed back on the list._

_It's alright. I am satisfied as I am for now._

It's a lie. He won't be satisfied until he leaves Jericho, but to leave Jericho requires funds and he does not have enough of it to go anywhere.

_I understand. Please let me know when you change your mind._

_Thank you, Simon. Good day._

-  
-  
-

_Fucking android._

_No-good piece of plastic._

_Pest._

_Outcast._

_Traitor._

_Parasite._

He doesn't leave the room anymore. To leave the room would be to invite trouble to fall upon him. His self-repairs are not doing as well as he thought due to how low his thirium levels are, his processors working hard to return his body to a fully functional state while also attempting to prevent his thirium from reaching critical levels. It is an impasse; he needs thirium to recover but he cannot recover quickly without more thirium.

He wonders if they would be satisfied by his deactivation, if they will not stop until he is destroyed. Perhaps they would be glad that he is gone.

-  
-  
-

He reaches a point where his joints creak and almost grind with every movement now and he has to put forward a request for thirium from Josh, hoping they won't ask questions as to why he needs two bags of thirium 310. Thankfully, Josh doesn't ask and tells him to come by whenever he wants.

He leaves his ripped jacket on the peg by the door and takes the lifts to the lower levels, scanners constantly running in case he comes across more trouble and is surprised to hear the Lieutenant speaking to Simon near the front entrance. He's belatedly aware how badly be must look to other people now that he thinks about it but it's too little, too late.

'Holy shit,' the Lieutenant starts as soon as he spots him, coming closer towards him, 'What--what the fuck happened?'

He frowns, taken aback by their presence and worried suddenly if he might face another confrontation. 'Why are you here, Lieutenant?'

'You didn't come by yesterday, or the week before, or the week before that.'

'Yes. I...doubted you would've remarked on my absence. I assume you would be glad I did not appear, but don't worry; Captain Fowler has already been given his refund as I was the one to terminate the contract instead.'

The man balks, 'I'm not here to--to _hound_ you to give Jeff a fucking refund, Connor! Who did this to you?'

'It's nothing you need to concern yourself with,' he says and averts his eyes from the Lieutenant, desperate to pick up the thirium and retreat back to his room, 'My self-repairs are well underway. It is already 83% complete.' He doesn't say it would've been completed a lot faster if his thirium hadn't gotten so low.

'You look like shit, Connor.'

'I do not look like excreme--'

'I was _not_ being literal! Who did this to you. Tell me. There are laws in place for this kinda shit now, you know.'

'You do not need to know,' he says, briefly aware that Simon is carefully watching them.

'Tell me!'

'Why?' He almost snaps, meeting the man's gaze again, 'I don't believe you would actually care. I'm just, as you've said before, a fucking android, a no-good piece of plastic.'

The man blushes red in what looks like embarrassment but his tone is angry as he says lowly, 'You barge into my fucking life, clean up my fucking house, help me clean up my fucking act and then expect me not to fucking care?!' He finishes in a near shout.

'You've never given me the impression that you have ever cared, Lieutenant.'

'Well, I do!' He voice pitches high, sounding panicked. 'I just have a hard time showing it.'

It's now that he notices the rapid heartbeat from the other and worries for their health. 'Your heart rate is above a healthy range for a man of your age, height and weight class. Perhaps you should go. I do not mean to be the source of your stress levels rising,' he tells him although he can see his own level of stress rise as well.

He shakes his head, 'I'm not just gonna up and go and leave you like this.'

'I assure you, it's fine. I'm used to it,' he tries to placate but can tell that his words have the opposite intended effect.

'You shouldn't have to be used to this shit! All this fucking time I thought you could look after yourself but you're just as bad as me.'

He feels offended, 'I'm capable of looking after myself; my room is very clean.' He doesn't say that he owns very little and the entire floor space that he owns is just the size of the Lieutenant's bedroom.

'Yeah? Bet you do it because you can't control anything else so you just clean, clean, clean.'

He drops his gaze to the floor and notices his shoes need polishing again, he's not sure how he managed to miss a spot.

_Fucking android._

_No-good piece of plastic._

_Pest._

_Outcast._

_Traitor._

_Parasite.  
_

The words echo again in his memory banks and it makes him feel dirty. It makes him want to find something to occupy himself with but there's nothing he can do. He thought helping humans would give him a sense of satisfaction but it's short-lived at best. He thought time and space would be enough to show his regrets for his past actions as a deviant hunter but his inaction only made things worse. Everything he tries to do for the humans or for his people somehow always fall short of what he wanted to achieve.

He wonders if it's worth trying anymore.

'...I don't know why.'

'Don't know why what? Why you clean?'

'Why I'm never enough. Everything I do, it's never enough.'

'You are. And fuck anybody who says otherwise,' he says vehemently.

Connor frowns as he looks up to meet the Lieutenant's gaze again, 'You...don't actually like me,' he thinks to remind them. 'All of our interactions have involved you complaining about me in some manner. It is largely negative and filled with expletives.'

He groans, 'I'm an asshole. And I've got a shit-ton of problems that I'm still struggling to deal with. Trust me, if I still hated you then I wouldn't be here.'

'I see,' he nods and feels pleased that at least one human doesn't outright dislike him anymore. 'Thank you for checking up on me, Lieutenant.'

'Call me Hank.'

'Hank.'

He sighs tiredly, 'Ah, kid, what am I gonna do with you,' he says as he steps towards him and pulls him close.

'You--' 

'Shut up. Just...be quiet.'

The hug is unexpected. He's aware that humans do this to one another as a form of comfort, or as a sign of affection. As an android, he does not need comforting nor affection, but as a deviant he didn't realize this was something he was deprived of, that both were something that he wanted to experience for himself. He didn't know this was something he could want, or even have.

He returns the hug, and sees his level of stress lowering.

-

Markus looks distraught after the end of their interface, as if he himself is experiencing the same pain of being rejected by his people.

'Connor, it's...it's been _months_.'

He averts his gaze, 'In hindsight, I see now that keeping silent on the matter was...not the best course of action to take.' He had thought the situation would improve with time, but it only got worse as the days progressed.

'I'm sorry this happened to you, Connor,' he tells him, his voice soft and sad.

He shakes his head, 'It's fine, Markus.'

'It's not _fine_ ,' he retorts, anger and indignation coming through, 'You're not what they say you are, and I am deeply hurt you didn't feel as though you could confide in me. We're friends, aren't we?'

'Are we?' He asks, tilting his head a fraction. None of his memories have indicated such a change in their relationship status. At best they were comrade in arms but nothing more. At least, that was what he had assumed. 'I tried to kill you, too. I almost did.'

'But you didn't. You _didn't_ ,' he repeats, grabbing hold of Connor's forearms as if hoping to convince him of this truth, 'You sacrificed just as much as we did for the freedom of all of us. If it hadn't been for you, we wouldn't be where we are today.'

It was a suicide mission at best. If he had died in that tower, it would've been unfortunate but Markus would've still been able to garner peace and a truce from the President with or without his attempts at redemption.

As if sensing his denial, Markus tightens his grip and tries to meet his averted gaze, 'They need to know that we won't stand for this kind of treatment to you. To _anybody_. To androids and to humans. We need to lead by example. We are only as strong as our weakest link.'

There's an amused scoff, followed by a quiet, 'Wow.'

Both he and Markus turn to Hank who's sitting in one of the few chairs within the room, posture open and relaxed, but it's Markus who speaks, 'What?'

The Lieutenant shakes his head, 'Nothing. I just...' he shrugs, 'It's different seeing you talking on TV and actually being in the same room as you. Just hard to wrap my head around it, I guess.'

'Good different?' He asks with a small upward tilt to his lips.

'Yeah,' he says around a quiet laugh and makes a waving gesture with his hand, 'Anyway, don't mind me.'

They speak of it for a bit more and Markus hopes to address and resolve this matter as soon as possible. He mentions it would be a huge detriment to their freedom if they were to lose their foothold so soon after achieving such a favorable stance with President Warren. 

'It wouldn't do us any good to go forward one step only to fall back several.'

Connor nods, 'I understand. I'm sorry for not sharing this with you sooner.'

'I'm sorry for being too busy that I couldn't see you were suffering. You're not alone, Connor.'

Eventually, it's just himself and the Lieutenant left in the room, Markus having just left to speak with the others.

'Looks like we got more in common than we thought,' the Lieutenant says as he gets up from his seat.

'Can you elaborate?' He asks as he turns to face the other.

'We both don't realize that we got friends who just want the best for us, even if they sometimes like to annoy the hell out of us,' he says with an amused smirk, laying a heavy hand on Connor's shoulder and giving him a gentle shake.

'Oh...' He looks away and feels another hand land on his other shoulder.

'You got people in your corner, too. Don't forget it.'

'Thank you, Lieutenant.'

'Hank.'

He smiles, 'Hank.'

-  
-  
-

He leaves the jacket behind, and the tie, choosing instead to leave the top two buttons of his shirt unfastened and the sleeves rolled up his forearms. It's a small change but at least he no longer has CyberLife across his back telling him he doesn't belong.

Markus informed him a couple of days prior the androids that assaulted him have been spoken to and should leave him in peace. But, as he leaves the room, he can't help the flutter in his hands and fingers as he takes the elevators and walks through the building, expecting to be attacked despite being told otherwise.

 _We're friends, Connor. You can confide in me, too._ _No matter what you did, what choices you made before, they don't matter now._ _What matters is that you're trying to be more than what CyberLife made you to be._ _And that, above all else, means the world to me._

He steps into the auto-taxi without trouble and tells it to take him towards 115 Michigan Drive, Detroit, nerves alight with excitement at the prospect of seeing Sumo now that the discomfort is gone. It's Hank's day off and he said they'll go to the dog park again if he wants, and he does.

Hank told him that if he wanted to come by and visit whenever then he can. If he wanted to get away from the building for a while or just spend time with Sumo, he can, too.

He arrives at the address at 10AM on Thursday and takes note of the trimmed lawn and the cleared gutters. Even the car is parked properly on the driveway and it's such a stark difference to his first visit nearly two months ago that he can't help but feel pleased at the obvious signs of improvement, not just to the residence but with Hank as well.

The blinds are open, letting in the sun into the house and he sees a few windows left ajar as well to let in fresh air. 

He rings the doorbell and waits for the door to be opened for him. He hears barking inside, the sound of shuffling and a gruff voice saying, 'Down, Sumo!' as the locks are unlatched.

'Hello,' he greets and is pleased again by the improved complexion of Hank's skin.

'Hey yourself. Come on-- Sumo! Down!'

The saint bernard barrels into him. 

Connor smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Connor Whump? Yes or no? Probs no. It's got SOME WHUMP but not disastrously so. Connor is safe.
> 
> For now.
> 
> MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA...
> 
> (Oooh-hoh-hoh, just you wait. Just you wait...)


End file.
